


Wish You Were Here

by imthetitanic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Models, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Castiel, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imthetitanic/pseuds/imthetitanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a swimsuit model whose husband has committed suicide. When he gets an offer for a better job with a famous modeling agency, he doesn't know if he can leave the house in which Castiel died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish You Were Here

“They can no longer die; for they are like the angels.”  
−Luke 20:36

The words rolled around in Dean’s head for ages after he visited the grave. He had chosen the verse himself, despite his significant lack of Bible knowledge. He felt obligated to do at least that much for his husband, who had continued to go to his church—to believe—even after it was made abundantly clear he was unwelcome, even after he was disowned by his parents. 

The verse had seemed fitting for his husband. Cas had been one of the most generous men Dean had ever known. When told he wasn’t allowed to donate blood (what a stupid rule), he gave money. And this policy went for so many charities. Not that the pair hadn’t had more than enough money, between Dean’s modeling career and Cas’s accounting, but Cas had treated his charities as atonement for his sins. Dean sighed as the memory of the conversation they had the day before the—the—before Cas died came back to him.

_“Why do you need to give so much?” Dean asked, genuinely curious. He was not expecting the response._

_Castiel Winchester burst into tears. “I have to.” Cas had cried before, but never like this. His entire body was racked with sobs, and the noises coming from him were barely human. When Dean moved closer to him and pulled the other man’s head against his chest, Cas let it happen, but as a new wave of sobs clawed their way out of him, he shoved away._

_“Why do you have to?” The question was gentle. Dean made no movement._

_“I am a sinner…who is probably going to sin again.” Cas sighed. “Lord forgive me.”_

_Dean took his hand, and Cas didn’t pull away. He kept speaking after a moment. “They do not let me do confession anymore. I think they gave up on me. I never asked forgiveness for our relationship, and our marriage? I’m lucky I haven’t been excommunicated. But I’ve forced myself to face the facts, Dean. Being with you is a sin.”_

_Dean clenched his teeth to keep from reacting outwardly. Cas hadn’t pulled his hand away, and Dean took that to be a good sign. He tried unsuccessfully not to freak out._

_“Being with you is a sin, Dean Winchester. And charity is how I atone for something I can’t let go of. I thought maybe if I did enough good works, the Church would take me back.” Cas’s crying began to subside. He looked with red eyes and tearstained face at Dean, who put on a smile and patted his husband’s shoulder._

_When Cas didn’t move away, Dean pulled him into a hug, and they didn’t move until nightfall._

When he looked back on it, Dean realized that the last sentence Cas had said to him was past tense. Did the church reject him that day? Dean didn’t know. 

With an elastic snap, Dean came back to the present and found himself standing at the door of the Impala. He opened the door and got in. He beat his fist on the steering wheel. Cas wasn’t waiting for him at the shoot. He wasn’t waiting for him at all.

Dean swallowed back his emotions and started driving. He was already late, but he didn’t suppose Garth would really mind. 

ʘʘʘ

He was wrong. Usually Garth was laid-back, but today he was panicky. “There.” Garth threw a black square-leg at Dean. “Is a talent agent.” Garth waved his hand impatiently and followed Dean to the separator, where Dean shed his clothes and pulled on the swimsuit. “Here.”

“What?” Of all the days. Dean was even happier he had managed not to start crying today.

Garth looked Dean up and down and grinned. “Looking good, hombré. Where were you?”

“The grave,” Dean replied shortly. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Garth looked as though he were going to reply, but Dean walked away. He sent a nod to the talent agent, a short man with dark blonde hair neither long nor very short and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. As he positioned himself on the lounge chair in front of the camera, he continued to cast surreptitious glances at the agent. There was something familiar about his features. He was holding a lollipop now, and Dean chuckled inwardly.

Chuck began taking pictures, and Dean threw himself into his part. Sure, he was just a guy lounging at the beach, but that guy was happy while Dean was not. The image he had in his mind began to possess him, and he smiled wider, flashing his teeth. When he looked over at the agent, the man was smiling.

Chuck soon finished, and Dean stretched, flexing each of his muscles and popping his spine. The agent clapped as he approached. “Dean Winchester?” he said, sticking out his hand. Dean grasped it and smiled as he nodded. “I’m Gabriel Milton. I have to say, your process is fascinating.”

“How so?” Dean asked. He released Gabriel’s hand and stepped back, feeling strangely unclothed, though usually he was comfortable with the typical lack of dress.

“When you walked in that door, your grief showed plain on your face. Frankly, you looked dead. And then I saw you allowing your character to take you over.” Dean blinked a couple times, unsure of how to react to this completely accurate analysis. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

And that threw Dean off even further. How did this talent agent know he had lost his husband? He heard himself asking, “What?”

“I lost him too, Dean.”

Like an idiot, Dean asked again, “What?”

“Cassie, Dean. He’s my brother.” The grief in Gabriel’s eyes was palpable, and suddenly the familiar features made sense. Dean had noticed the family resemblance.

“Why haven’t I met you before?” Dean asked. He thought he had met the whole family when Cas had brought him to the family reunion…when Cas got disowned.

Gabriel laughed sadly. “I ran away. I’m not even sure Cassie remembers who I am. I left when he was little. I was 13 when his parents got married, and I left as soon as they couldn’t set the cops after me.” The smile faded from Gabriel’s face. “I changed my last name and ran. I kept my eye out for him though. Couldn’t abandon my baby brother, but he never knew who I was. I wish,” and here Gabriel’s eyes welled with tears, “I wish I had been able to save him.” The tears began to fall, and Gabriel gave an obviously forced laugh and took another lick of his lollipop. “He thought Hell would be better than this life.” 

That hit Dean like a semi-truck. Cas had firmly believed his sexuality was a mortal sin. And obviously that had bothered him, but Dean had never connected that to Hell. Not only that, Cas had believed suicide—no, no, don’t think that word—his manner of death to be a sin as well. One that would send him straight to Hell. Do not pass Go, do not gain two hundred dollars. Gabriel was right, and Dean couldn’t handle that.

How could he? Dean’s entire body began to shake, and the space behind his eyes began to burn, but no tears came. It had been weeks. Were there any tears left? Dean sank, trembling violently, to the ground. The hardwood was cold, and Dean absorbed the chill into himself, allowing it to enter every part of his body and mind until he lay, frozen, on the floor at Gabriel’s feet. 

He thought he could hear shouting and feel hands on him. But it felt a thousand miles away. Nothing could reach down far enough to really touch him…until he heard a voice tickling at his consciousness. 

“Hello, Dean. I am sorry I missed seeing you this morning. Have a great day. I love you.” _Click._

Dean shot straight up. “Cas!” But all he could see was Charlie’s apologetic face.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I ran from the editing booth as soon as I saw what was going on.” Charlie looked close to tears as she helped Dean up. 

He saw that everyone was gathered around, apparently to make sure that he was all right. “What did you do?” Charlie looked down at her feet and held out Dean’s cell phone. “Charlie?”

“I, uh, hacked your voicemail. I thought hearing Cas’s voice—”

“Don’t talk about him!” Dean yelled, hands twitching into fists at his die. “Don’t you dare…EVER—” Dean broke off, breathing heavily, as he felt the shaking coming back. He slowed his breath and forced himself to remember this was Charlie. This was Charlie. Slowly, the shaking subsided, and Dean realized that Charlie was staring at him, eyes wide and fearful.”

“Dean? Dean, are you all right?” Her voice was smaller than he had ever heard it. “I’m really sorry.”

Dean plastered a smile on his face as he took his phone. “It’s fine. Probably needed that.”

Charlie smiled carefully. “All right then. Like I said, sorry.” She walked away, using short, choppy steps. 

Dean turned away, smile still on his face. “I’m all right.” People began to uncomfortably disperse. Gabriel continued standing in place.

He pulled a card out of his pocket as Dean approached him. “Listen, Dean-o. You’re good at what you do. And I wasn’t just here to introduce myself as Cassie’s brother; my company really does need good models.” Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Gabriel cut him off. “I know you’re freelance, and I get that you probably love the flexibility, but I want to offer you a contract.” He handed over the card. Dean didn’t look at it. “We are based in New York City, so you’d have to move, obviously.”

Dean had been on board. He totally had been. But the idea of moving was almost repulsive to him. He looked down at the card. Elysian Fields Agency. He glanced back up at Gabriel’s expectant face, then stared at the card. “You’re offering me a contract with Elysian Fields?”

“Yes, I am. Can you do it?” If Dean hadn’t been in such a bad mood, Gabriel’s grin would have been infectious. He unwrapped a candy bar and didn’t allow his eyes to wander from Dean’s. 

Dean sighed. Elysian Fields was super prestigious. Models would kill for a chance to work for them. But Dean couldn’t leave that little cottage, couldn’t leave the five-minute drive to the cemetery. He shook his head. “I can’t leave.” 

Gabriel shrugged, grin faded to an expression that wasn’t quite a frown, but certainly wasn’t a smile. “If you change your mind, call me. My cell number is on the back. The offer stands.”

Dean nodded, apology frozen on his lips. He just couldn’t leave Cas. 

ʘʘʘ

At home, Dean collapsed on the couch, dressed in jeans and a flannel, and shut his eyes. He needed pie. He needed to bake, and he needed to bake now. He hadn’t baked since Cas’s death, and he had a sense of trepidation about doing so now. The activity had been both of theirs. 

He felt a laugh bubbling up inside him, and, surprised, he released it. A sick sound echoed through the house, and Dean swallowed it back. He was going to bake.

He stood up and went through to the kitchen. He tied Cas’s apron around his waist so his husband would be with him, and then he opened the cupboard they had kept their baking materials in, and an envelope fell out.

Dean bent to pick it up, but dropped it again when he realized whose handwriting it was that spelled _Dean_ in fine lettering. “Cas,” he whispered. There hadn’t been a note. They had looked, but his Castiel had not left a note. 

He picked up the envelope again and opened it with shaking fingers. A single sheet of notebook paper was inside. Carefully, Dean walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. He pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket and dialed his brother’s number.

Sam picked up on the third ring. “Dean.”

“Sammy, I don’t know what to do,” Dean said. He was shocked at how shaky his voice was.

“What’s wrong?” There was a rustling of papers on the other end.

“I think I found his note.” The reality struck Dean to the core. This was Cas’s note. Cas had left a note for him.

There was a short silence from his brother. When Sam spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Did you open it?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I couldn’t.” Dean felt a single tear slip down his face.

“Read it and call me back if you need to.” _Click._

Dean put his head in his hands and breathed deeply, then pulled the paper out of the envelope. Cursive lettering greeted him as he began to read.

_  
My dear Dean,_

_I am glad you decided to bake again. I know you probably have been unable to. Sorry about that, I guess. Dean, I am aware that it is selfish of me to write to you. But I could not make myself go without saying goodbye. And without telling you to move on. What is that song you enjoy? “Shake it Off.” I am doing you a favor. You do not need me. You love me, and that is a problem. The grace of God sent you to me, and I would be remiss if I were to allow myself to destroy you. So, I suppose this is truly goodbye…I am sorry I wasted your time._

_Love,_

_Castiel._

 

Dean shook his head hard. What? Move on? Shake it off? What the hell…why did this have to happen? Dean called Sam back after a moment. When his brother picked up, Dean practically screamed, “He told me to shake it off, Sam!”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re ‘shaking it off’, Dean,” Sam said. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I’m really sorry he died. But this isn’t healthy for you.”

“And what is healthy, Sam? Accepting that damn contract with Elysian Fields? Moving to New York?” Dean snapped. Right after the words left his mouth, he realized what he had said. 

“You got offered a contract with Elysian Fields?” Sam sounded incredulous.

“Yeah, just today. Still have the guy’s card.” Dean bit the words off as though they were poison.

“Dean, accept the contract! It’s the best agency in the country…it would be the absolute pinnacle of your career!”

Dean shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know, Sammy. I don’t want to leave our house. Or him.”

“This is bad for you. Go to New York. You need to let go of the grave. Make a nice, apple-pie life for yourself somewhere else.”

“But I don’t want to leave him, Sam. I can’t leave my home.”

“Make a new home. You can fly back to the grave site whenever you damn well please.”

“You know I hate flying,” Dean groaned.

“Dean. Please just call the guy back. Tell him you’re accepting the contract. Drive down if you have to. The Impala can take cross country travel. It’s not like you’ll be shooting every day. Please.”

Dean frowned. “I can’t leave him, Sammy.”

“If you had gotten an offer from Elysian fields while he was alive, would you both have moved?”

“Of course!” 

“Then move now. Cas will still be with you. Bones in the earth aren’t him. His spirit rests with you.” Sam hung up, and Dean stared at the phone, then nodded slowly.

He found the card in his pocket and dialed the number on the back. When it picked up, Dean said, “Gabriel. It’s Dean. I accept.”

**Author's Note:**

> I quoted "Bitch Don't Kill My Vibe" by Kendrick Lamar in the scene where Cas is crying. Just needed to credit that.


End file.
